Shut Me Up
by The Bitch Who Died
Summary: The best way to shut them up involves strawberries & their incredible sense of competitiveness. /or/ They really should learn when to shut up. Really. future fic \One-shot/ [thundercest] [ambiguous max/phoebe] & [brief billy/nora] *Whining for more will not get you crap, this is complete. I've already got 7 full on stories I'm writing, a one-shot collection, & a mini series.* R


She's not sure what exactly is happening in her kitchen.

And she doesn't think she should ask.

But Nora's screaming at Billy for whatever it is so she, like the good big sister she is, does.

"What are you doing?"

They scream. No, it's not like she's _5 feet away from you._ God.

"Calm down," she tells them, "just, forget I asked, okay?"

"Are you guys trying to eat strawberries without your hands?" An all too familiar voice asks.

"Max, they _screamed_ when I asked, I don't think they want to answ - "

"Yeah, Billy's losing," Nora gloats, a patronizing ring to her voice.

"Am not!" Billy shouts, strawberry guts dying most of his face a pinkish red. Phoebe laughs into her palm, trying to keep composure.

"Are too!" Nora screams.

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Okay! You guys aren't 5, you're . . ." Max trails off, his eyebrows furrowing.

"You don't know how old our siblings are?" Phoebe asks, a look of appall on her face. He has got to be the worst brother ever. He has to be!

"I do!" He exclaims.

"No, you don't," she sighs.

"Okay, I don't, big deal," he snorts.

"No, you - wait, you're admitting it?" Phoebe asks, taken aback. Because, really, when was the last time Max admitted to being _wrong?_ Um, _never._ In their 16 years, she cannot remember a single time Max gave up so quickly on an argument. Especially not an argument with her. He _loves_ to argue with her.

"Yeah, I mean, really, why not? I need to give you _something_ compared to the many, many things I'm better than you at," he smirks. He smirks. He. Smirks. And she hates him for it.

"Oh, like math? Wait, _I'm_ better than you at that. And science. And history. And English. And singing. And who could forget - riding. A. Bike," she grinds her teeth just a little. He's really stepping on her nerves. Actually, it's more like repeated stomping.

"You really wanna go _there,_ Phoebe? I bet I'm better than you at . . ." He glances around the room, "eating without my hands!"

"Is that a challenge, Max?" And her pride is _really_ kicking in now.

"If you aren't scared I'll win, _baby sis._" They just don't know when to shut up, do they?

"Oh, you are _on,_ big bro, you are _on._ And about to lose!"

"Is that supposed to be an insult, baby sis?"

"Shut up & get a new bowl of strawberries!"

"Billy! Nora! Out! This is between _me_ & the nerd."

The remote flings itself at him. It's always the remote.

"The rules?"

"No powers, no hands, no feet either, & when you lose, you have to . . . Call Cherry & tell her you think I'm hot."

"No!"

"Aw, does wittle Phoebe not think she'll win?"

"Shut up." Her face flushes. He bites back a soft smile. She's just a little bit adorable while blushing, after all. ". . . When I win, you have to . . . Um . . . Crap, you have to . . ."

"This is pathetic, how about I have to call my best friend & tell him I think you're hot?"

"And who would that be? Dr. Colosso?"

"At least my best friend doesn't take group selfies."

"Nyeh!"

"Blegh!"

"What are we doing? This is seriously immature, we're 16 now, we shouldn't be screaming vocables at each other."

"Well, we're supposed to be eating strawberries without our hands! And you started it!"

She groans, rolls her eyes, & picks up a strawberry between her lips. His face flushes & he grabs one between his teeth. With a wink, he jerks his head up & releases the strawberry into the air, his mouth waiting for its return. He catches it. Perfectly. She mentally curses him.

With a determined blush, she looks up at him, &, without breaking eye contact, uses her teeth to gently roll a strawberry onto her tongue, which retreats back into her mouth. She gives a patronizing pout & rubs away fake tears. He purses his lips, trying not to groan.

Jerking his eyebrows up in a swift, suggestive manner, he picks a strawberry up by the hull with his teeth, &, after a few bobs of the head, flips it into his mouth. He mockingly bows. She fake applauds, glaring daggers at him.

"Watch & learn, big bro," she warns, smiling slightly. Carefully, she swirls her tongue around a particularly ripe strawberry in a slow, suggestive manner. Her lips wrap around the strawberry, once more, suggestively. She bats her eyelashes, feigning innocence & biting back a victorious smile at his stare.

"Hmph, bet you don't have the guts to try & eat one with me," he challenges, dead set on beating her . . . And with a few, ulterior motives. Maybe. Possibly. Totally.

"Oh, really? I bet my allowance _you_ chicken out," she retorts. Because, really, they still don't know when to shut up.

"Let's do it then," he finalizes their stupid, stupid bet.

She picks the strawberry up, securing it between her lips. He presses his against the hull, staring her dead in the eyes. If either of them blush, neither says anything.

She takes the first bite, pushing her lips closer to his. He's taken aback by her boldness. This is Phoebe. The girl who curls into a ball at horror flicks & squeezes her eyes shut on roller coasters. She isn't supposed to be the first to do something risky.

Still, he pushes on.

Their lips are much too close for comfort. Thoughts of fear or disgust should cross their mind. _Something_ should remind them that the lips across from theirs are not supposed to be this close.

But it's much too late to back out.

They gulp, faces red. One more bite from either of them, & their lips touch.

And so society is defied.

Their lips only brush at first. Neither are sure quite _who_ put the . . . _Kiss_ in motion. But their lips respond without their consent. Or maybe it's given, maybe instinctually, maybe subconsciously, but they respond. Swallow, kiss, _wrong._ Something feels right though. Warm, fuzzy, electric. The wrongness of it all makes it all the more wonderful. It's a rush of dizzy fireworks & raindrops against bare flesh & laughter & twirling & everything they shouldn't feel from _this._

They pull apart red faced with racing hearts.

"Tonight, that amusement park, I'll drive."

"Yeah."

Because they never know quite when to shut up.

* * *

Hold back that follow or favorite,

And trade it for a review,

It'll serve as feedback & motivation for my writing tricks,

And otherwise, I might just slap you.

- Queen Alison the Obstinate


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